


Sinful

by loveislove1999



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveislove1999/pseuds/loveislove1999
Summary: Just like that, they’re kissing. Softly, a bit unsure and aware that they can’t tear each other apart before the Met, but knowing for certain they will, later.





	Sinful

**Author's Note:**

> It's been months since I've written anything, but I've just seen Rocketman for the third time and this happened. Obviously this is purely fiction. This was meant to be a stand-alone piece, but I have too much to say - expect more chapters soon! Enjoy!

Richard is stressed out. Sure, it’s his first Met Gala and he is going alone but, to be honest, he couldn’t care less about that. He’s become used to these types of events, especially since the worldwide release of Bodyguard. A few hours of small talk, a couple of smiles thrown at photographers and an endless supply of hors-d’oeuvres and champagne… Things got repetitive, but it was nothing a lad could complain about.

No, what turned him into a nervous mess was the fact that he would see Taron for the first time in about three months, since they wrapped filming for Rocketman. As soon as he received the text from Taron, sent casually on a Sunday night while they were arguing about who made the best scrambled eggs (he did), his heart skipped a beat.

_mate, what are you wearing for the met? wouldn’t want my look to clash with my leading man_

_dunno yet, something black probably. would go quite well with your colorful chicken costume_

_oh fuck off_

And then, after a few seconds of staring at his phone and deciding that a little flirting never hurt anyone, Taron added _unless you’d like me to wear the golden hot pants… saw you checking me out last time I wore those_

Richard had, in fact, though his lungs might fail him when he last saw Taron wearing these bloody hot pants. They were at his swanky London flat, rummaging through some bits they had been allowed to take home from set after filming, when Taron decided that it was an appropriate time to give Richard a full view of Elton’s most revealing look. The only thing he’d been able to think about for two days straight were Taron’s thighs and how he wanted to kiss them, bite them, _lick_ them. 

He knew he was in deep trouble from the moment he got half hard just by sitting close to Taron on the stairs of the makeshift L.A. house where he pretended to play John Reid when, in reality, the hunger in his eyes was definitely his own. Richard Madden was head over heels for Taron Egerton and _jesus_ he felt like a schoolboy pining like this, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure if Taron felt the same way about him and, quite frankly, wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. Their friendship was worth too much to risk it over a potentially disastrous hookup, but that didn’t make Taron any less gorgeous. 

Seeing him at the Met would be interesting to say the least. They’d both been busy but kept in touch regularly, texting during the day and face timing a few times a week. Taron had his daily dose of Madden by watching Bodyguard, Ibiza, reruns of Game of Thrones and even _Cinderella_ for god’s sake. Whether he came undone with Richard’s name dangling from his lips every time he saw his best mate on screen was no one’s business but his. He would see him tonight, looking absolutely stunning and he didn’t know what to do. To be fair, he gagged for it even when Richard was wearing sweaty gym clothes, so how was he supposed to handle him dressed to the nines?

They were set to stay in the same hotel, and Richard politely declined his invitation for breakfast because hair and make-up wanted him ready for prep at 8:00 AM sharp. _He’s nervous_ , Taron thought, and part of him knew that something would happen later that evening. It had been a long time coming, really, their banter edging on flirtatious for months and the electricity between them building up, slowly. He knew Richard had been with men before – “Nothing serious, T. Just a couple blowjobs here and there,” – but he’d never even though of kissing another man before Rocketman began filming. Then, he somehow _fell in love_ with Richard Madden of all men, and the realization that he’d never felt whole before had hit him like a ton of bricks. 

A knock on his door, about two hours before he had to be on his way for the carpet, shakes him out of his thoughts. He looks around the room and sees his team, fixing whatever is left of his hair, choosing his jewelry, polishing his shoes (no, he didn’t know how _this_ was his life now) and running around trying to find a missing cufflink.

“Pretty busy in here, T. I don’t see any hot pants though,” adds the oh-so recognizable voice, its Scottish tint stronger than Taron remembered. He turns around and Richard is standing there, unbothered, in his plush bathrobe. His hair is styled perfectly and the stubble on his jaw stirs something low in Taron’s belly. As Richard walks closer to where he’s sitting, he gets a glimpse of his chest hair, and his mind goes blank. Taron has a thing for chest hair, _so what?_

“My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself mate, I was just making sure you hadn’t quit the gym just yet.”

“And? Satisfied?” 

“You’re doing pretty well I think, especially for your age,” Taron teases, adding a wink for good measure.

“Good, because Elton called and asked if we could walk the carpet together. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you,” and Taron feels the shakiness of Richard’s voice behind his playful words.

“Really? Well, can’t disappoint Elton, can we?” he asks, but the glimmer in his eyes lets Richard know that yes, he would walk with him and no, it’s not because Elton asked but because _he_ wants to.

In fact, Elton hadn’t called Richard. He was in South Africa with his husband David, completely unreachable, but Rich needed an excuse to ask Taron to join him. He was basically asking him to be his date, since they weren’t wearing the same designer and that proved to be the only reason uncoupled people walked together at this particular event. Taron would perhaps (hopefully) connect the dots and give him a sign, _anything_ , to show him that he wants this too.

“I’ll be ready in half an hour, give or take. Meet me in my room for a drink before we leave, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Madden.”

 _Fucking hell_ , Richard thought. He just invited Taron – whom he truthfully wanted to pin against the wall and devour – to his room, alone, dressed in what would likely be the most flattering suit he’d ever see. _Great job, Rich_. A few minutes (or is it hours?) later, Taron is standing in front of him, head resting on the doorframe.

“Gunna let me in, Dicky?”

“I… sure, uh, I wasn’t expecting you this early,” Richard says, because Taron is too close to him and he’s shirtless. He moves back and Taron walks in, casually, before sitting on the king-sized bed. 

“Though you could help me choose my shirt,” Taron says, a devilish look in his eyes. _Oh_ , Richard thinks, _he definitely knows_.

“I think no shirt’s the way to go,” he shoots back, eyeing Taron up and down hungrily. It’s all a bit indecent really, but he just can’t help himself. Taron stands, takes a step closer and Richard can feel his breath, soft and sweet, and it’s all a bit too much.

“I hope I’m not misreading the situation,” Taron whispers, his fingers barely touching Richard’s bicep. It sends shivers down Richard’s spine and he physically _can’t_ talk. He shakes his head and moves his gaze from Taron’s lips to his eyes, hoping his look conveys the _please, take me right now and don’t ever stop_ racing through his mind. 

Taron takes a step forward and closes the distance between them. Just like that, they’re kissing. Softly, a bit unsure and aware that they can’t tear each other apart before the Met, but knowing for certain they will, later. Their hips brush together and Richard can’t stop a whimper from escaping his throat when he feels Taron against him, warm and hard. It takes all he has to step back, pecking Taron’s lips again and again for good measure.

“Fuck, T, we can’t do this now.”

To that, Taron grins and loops his finger around Richard’s belt. He has an idea.

“Take off your trousers, Madden.”

“What? We need to be out of here in twenty minutes and you’re asking me to do _what_? I – ”

“Richard, for fuck’s sake, just take off your trousers. Now.”

“Jesus, T,” he sighs, carefully unbuttoning his silk trousers and laying them on the armchair beside him, hoping to god they don’t get creased. He’s so hard it’s painful and he has no clue what Taron has in mind, but it better be good, or else he won’t be able to get through the night. Somehow, Taron has also gotten rid of his trousers and reaches forward, placing a hand on Richard’s throbbing cock over his pants. _This is good._ After a few moments, he moves his hand up Richard’s navel, skims his fingers over his abs and, when he gets to his face, grabs a hold of his jaw.

“If I make you come in your pants without messing up your pretty hair, will you fuck me good when we get back?” Taron asks, pushing Richard towards the bed, until the back of his knees hit the duvet and he has no choice but to sit.

He never though he’d live to hear Taron demanding that he _fuck him good_ , but it lights up something primal in him and he growls, lifting Taron and pushing him down on his lap. Their hips collide and the friction is delicious, sinful. They find a pace – strong, rapid thrusts – that has them breathlessly moaning each other’s names in a matter of seconds.

“Fuck, T, oh – _oh fuck_ ,” Richard moans and he briefly wonders what the hell it is they’re doing. He’s getting off with his best mate and he plans on tearing him apart as soon as they can get out of this stupid gala, sure, but he’s equally looking forward to waking up in Taron’s arms tomorrow morning – and the next, if he’ll let him.

Still rocking his hips, Taron bends down to bite his earlobe and he decides he’ll think about the implications of this later. 

“Rich, go on – do it for me love,” Taron manages to get out between two grunts. Richard can’t tell if it’s the demanding tone or the fact that he just called him love, but he comes right then and there and it shakes him so deeply that he _screams_. He would be embarrassed, but Taron’s equally as loud when he follows suit, moments later. 

They sit like this, panting, for a few minutes until Taron speaks up.

“Kept your hair looking perfect, Rich. You gotta hold your end of the bargain now.”

“Oh, trust me, I will.”

He slips a hand into Taron’s pants, grabs a handful of his ass and can’t stop himself from giving Taron a taste of what he’s in for later. 

“I’ll do you so good you won’t be able to walk tomorrow morning,” he adds, a smirk dancing on his lips. Taron sighs, feeling the flush spread over his cheeks. 

“ _Jesus_ , Rich, where did you learn to speak like this?” Richard chuckles, slipping away from him. Taron decides that: one, he doesn’t give a fuck and two, he’d very much like for him to never stop.


End file.
